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Prologue
“That’s it kitten, again for me.” I groan, as I lift the thin bamboo cane above my head one more time.
The sounds out of her agape mouth are the most beautiful things you could ever imagine. They just roll out of her all breathy and deep as I mark her over and over again with my barely restrained, yet loving violence. I've waited so long for this. I’ve watched her, fawned over her, rescued her, and now as she screams my name in pleasure and pain, I know that she’s mine for good.
I knew when I saw her standing there alone in the alley, looking through my trash that I would own her. It didn't take long, and she didn't take a lot of convincing. The only problem was the other man in the way. But I've dealt with him, and he'll no longer be an issue. At least I hope not. I mean, can dead men really cause that much of a problem?
“God, you're doing so good, baby girl. Look at you. So perfect. Cry for me. Let Daddy hear it.” I say to her as I bend down, grabbing her cheeks in my hand, squishing them in so they press on her teeth, making her look at me, forcing her emerald eyes to meet mine so I can see the tears running from the corners of them. Drool runs from her mouth in a little stream that I brush away with my thumb.
Her fingers twitch and wiggle as she fights against the binds around her wrists. It's stunning, the way the leather straps press into her ivory skin, making it all pink and pretty.
“Please, Sir. Please let me cum for you.” She begs me, arching her back over the crude bench, shoving her round ass up higher in the air, like a fucking bitch in heat.
“In due time, baby. Don't worry, I’ve got you.” I reassure her. Giving her face a little shake in my hand before I pet her sleek, chocolate hair.
“Oh God I need it. Please Sir, please.”
“You really are such a very good girl. They're so happy with you, just like Daddy is. Do you like them watching, kitten?” I asked her, turning her head to look out the window of the playroom so she can see all of the faces looking in.
The crowd gathered is watching as I abuse her, just the way she likes it. I like it too. In fact I love the way she performs for an audience. It’s something I’ve always wanted in a submissive, and she plays the part oh so fucking well. So well that my cock is painfully hard in my leather pants, pressing against the zipper hard enough to break it.
I’m going to need to fuck her soon, to make her take me as hard as I give it to her, to break her so that the onlookers get their voyeuristic fill. She’s going to cum all over me as I take everything she has left from her in front of them all. I’ve already taken her body and her heart, now the rest of her, including her future is mine. For good.
“You may cum for me now.” I whisper in her ear as I lean over her back, dropping the cane at her feet, shoving my fingers in her sopping wet cunt. “I need you all raw and ready for my cock.”
“Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir.” She cries out, her body bucking, her legs shaking, her weight leaning completely on the wooden sawhorse as she falls apart like the perfect little cum slut she is.
“Mine.” I purr to her, licking up her cheek, tasting the saltiness of her tears. “All mine.”
Chapter One
I love Christmas time In New York City. The weather is cold and snowy, with the ground covered by the white fluffy stuff making the world look all clean and virginal, even if it is just temporary. Once the cabs drive over it and turn the white to that filthy grey slop, everything goes back to normal. But for the time being, especially in the middle of the night when the streets are quiet, illuminated by all the twinkling lights, it’s a nice, serene, and clean feeling.
The sparkling winter precipitation crunches under my feet as I walk along the city sidewalks lost to my thoughts about the day ahead of me. Multi-billion-dollar deals are nothing new to me, but the account I’m currently working on has been giving some issues, and I want the merger to go as smoothly as possible. The massive commission I’ll make on it will be a nice extra padding to my already very wealthy portfolio, and I greedily want it, if for nothing more than the ability to bump my status up from mega-millionaire to billionaire status.
Just the thought of all that cash makes my insides all warm and fuzzy against the cold, blustery winter wind on my face. Am I a whore for the almighty dollar? Yeah, unapologetically. My wealth is something I take massive pride in, having grown up in the not so affluent parts of the city, forced to go to public schools, and basically live in squalor with my mother who worked her ass off for very little. With hard work, I’ve turned it all around, and now have more than most of the world, with money, power, and the security that I’ll never live like that again.
I have everything a man should want, or at least you would think so. Something is missing though, and I can't quite put my finger on it. Maybe it's a relationship, the one thing that throughout all of my adult life, I just never seemed to have the time for. I always focused on work, and how I was going to succeed in my finances and my life. I never gave much thought to what a life with a woman would be, except for the ladies that I play with when the mood strikes me. And play I do.
For about the same length of time that I’ve been a ruthless financial mogul, I’ve also been a shallow playboy. I like my toys, and to play with them before discarding them. I never really understood why I throw them away when I'm done with them. Maybe it's because I ruin them in the process. I mean, once they have me, why would they want anything or anyone else? Seeing them beg for me and not keep me is just something so deviously sexy. So I guess you could say not only am I a money whore, but I'm also a man whore as well.
A quick glance at my Rolex tells me that I really should be getting to bed and ending this walk through the snowy city. Sleep is very important. The body needs it just as much as it needs healthy food and regular exercise. So with a quiet sigh, I turn around on the sidewalk, feeling my shoes slip a little bit in the slush, and I head back to my 19th century townhouse on Cobble Hill.
The foyer is toasty warm as I step inside and strip off my winter coat, shaking the little dusting of snow off the material before hanging it on the rack by the door. I can hear the crackling of the fire in the den and smell the warm tones of cinnamon from the basket of decorative pine cones on the entranceway table where I throw my keys. It’s opulent, and cozy, and a place I never could have imagined as a child growing up in the slums of Brooklyn not that far away.
Furry feet pitter patter quietly on the polished hardwood floor as Mabel my Maine Coon cat waltzes up to me, lacing herself around my ankles, meowing up at me, welcoming me home. Her dark silver and black fur sticks to my pant cuffs, but I could care less, she’s my girl, and I would wear the evidence of her love anywhere.
“Hey baby girl.” I say to her, picking her up, cuddling her large fluffy body in my arms like a child. “You miss me?”
She reaches out for my face with her big paw, and I give her toe beans a kiss before gently setting her back down on the floor and heading down the hall towards the kitchen. A glass of scotch from my private collection will go a long way to help me calm my brain and get some good shut eye. The Macallan goes down smoothly, the amber, slightly spicy liquid chilled ever so slightly by the single ice cube I drop in the glass.
With it in my hand, I make my way through the main hall, and up the stairs, my footsteps silenced by the thick burgundy carpet. A right turn at the landing leads me to the master bedroom, my sanctuary, my place of peace and rest, a place never seen by anyone but myself and Mabel.
She’s already on my bed, her long body stretched out, her head on one of the decorative pillows waiting for me, her green eyes watching as I strip off my clothes and set them in the hamper to be washed by my housekeeper when she arrives in the morning.
I like things that are neat and tidy. There will never be clothes on my floor, or clutter around my house. Messes lead to overstimulation of the mind, and I prefer to have things as relaxed and calming in my home. Life outside these walls is hectic enough, I don’t want it inside as well.
“A few minutes baby girl.” I say to the cat, scratching behind her ears, giving one of them a little tug. “Shower first.”
